


Rematch

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christina de Souza attempts to fence her latest ill-gotten gains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rematch

**Author's Note:**

> I was rather pleased to find that Mary Peach is almost exactly fifty years older than Michelle Ryan. Since 'The Enemy of the World' was set fifty years in the future from its broadcast date, the logical conclusion is that Astrid Ferrier and Christina de Souza are exact contemporaries.

These days, abandoned warehouses were a scarce commodity in London. You might think you had one all sewn up, turn your back for five minutes, and find it had suddenly become a fashionable riverside development with easy access to the City and Canary Wharf, full of ghastly jumped-up bankers in too-shiny shoes. It had taken Christina de Souza more time than she'd have liked to pin down a suitable location to fence her latest loot. Her usual man of affairs in these matters — Harry Dewlock, a useful but odious little fellow — had suggested various other places, but Christina had rejected them as completely unsuitable. There was a way these things should be done, and going to all the trouble and excitement of swiping a priceless Fabergé egg only to hand it over in some grubby public lavatory in Tooting Bec was not the right way. Particularly not when it was the Alexander III Medallion Egg, liberated from the secret archive of the Carver Collection. 

The building she'd eventually settled on was a former dogfood warehouse on a little-frequented stretch of the Thames, cut off during the day by a scheme to rebuild one of the capital's roads. At night, of course, it was a simple matter to approach unobserved; in her usual catsuit, Christina clambered over a fence, vaulted from there to a bulldozer, and thence to a cement mixer. One more flying leap brought her to the building's fire escape. 

She was earlier than the time arranged for the appointment, deliberately so. Some of the time remaining, she spent cautiously walking around the warehouse, ducking from shadow to shadow, checking that the building was as unobserved as it seemed. It wouldn't be the first time that Inspector Macmillan had set some laughably obvious trap for her. Then, satisfied that the coast was clear, she entered the building, made a quick inspection of each floor, and took up station two storeys below the top, beside a window which commanded a view of the main entrance. Dim, second-hand light from the streets below struggled through the dusty glass of the windows, with the occasional brighter spot where a pane was broken. 

Dead on time, she saw a short, shuffling figure, clad in hat and coat despite the warmth of the night, and glancing suspiciously this way and that in a manner sure to attract attention. Moving stealthily, it crept through the construction site and headed for the main door. A few moments later, soft footsteps could be heard on the staircase; Christina moved to one side of the entrance door, and waited. With her eyes now adapted to the dim light, she made out the dark silhouette as it paused on the threshold. Swiftly and silently, she caught the figure's sleeve— 

It came away in her hand, revealing a brief flash of paler fabric. Christina, her instincts for trouble fully alerted, jumped away and spun round, but the other person, moving with equal speed and agility — it certainly wasn't Harry Dewlock — had already launched themself at her. She kicked out, and heard a gasp as her foot connected; then something hit her in the solar plexus, hard, and she doubled over, gasping for breath. Her assailant grabbed her hand, but she wrenched it free and rolled to one side, putting space between the two of them. 

The overhead lights snapped on. 

Momentarily dazzled, Christina could at first only make out a mop of blonde curls. Then, as her eyes cleared, she perceived that her attacker was a woman: about the same size as her, the concealing coat and hat now discarded to reveal a white blouse, jodhpurs and boots. For a moment, the two stared at each other in surprise and dawning recognition. 

"Astrid Ferrier!" Christina said, as she recovered her breath. "Isn't it?" 

"Got it in one. And you're Christina de Souza." 

Christina inclined her head gravely. "It must be ten years since I saw you last." 

"That's right. Regional steeplechase quarter-finals." 

"Yes, I remember. I beat you hollow." Christina permitted herself a brief smile, but her eyes were darting this way and that, her mind alive to the situation. When Astrid had turned the lights on, that could well have served as a signal; within minutes, at most, there could be police at every door and window. Slowly, keeping her hands in view at all times, she got to her feet. "So what are you doing with yourself these days?" 

"Troubleshooting." Astrid held out her left hand. "Now, whatever you've pinched, hand it over." 

"And then you'll let me go?" 

Astrid shook her head. "Not a bit of it. If you want to go, that's up to you. I'm not giving you help." 

"Good thing I don't need it, then." Christina shrugged. "I just hope you didn't break it when we were fighting. It's a fragile piece." 

She reached into a pocket of her catsuit, extracted something the size of a large egg, and tossed it into the air. 

"Catch!" she called, turned, and ran. Behind her, the gas bomb went off, enveloping Astrid in a cloud of pungent vapour that, if Christina was any judge, would leave her unable to take any interest in Christina's departure for some time. She couldn't risk the staircases or the fire escape — if there was someone waiting for her there, it would be game over. Instead, she made for a hatch in the floor; when she'd checked the premises the previous week, she'd noted it as part of a possible escape route. As quickly as she dared, she lowered herself through the hatch— 

And found herself snared in the tangling meshes of a large net, attached to the underside of the hatchway. 

"Nice one, Astrid," she muttered. It was clear that her old sporting rival had checked out the building every bit as thoroughly as she had. "But you don't get me that easily." 

With some effort she drew a slim blade from a sheath at her hip, and began to hack away at the net. It felt like plastic, reinforced with wire, but though the process was slower than she'd have liked, it was definitely yielding to the knife. 

"Getting on all right down there?" Astrid's voice asked from above, sounding a little hoarse. 

"Fine. Thanks for asking." 

"Not at all." Astrid coughed. "Thanks for the gas, by the way." 

"Sorry." Christina didn't even try to sound contrite. "But you know how it is, business is business. Talking of which, how did you know I was coming here?" 

"Your friend Dewlock doesn't take proper care of his diary. I've known since this morning." 

There was still no sign or sound of the police. Maybe they were waiting outside the building... or maybe Astrid was so confident in her own abilities that she thought she could pull this off single-handed. Or perhaps her allies weren't the police at all. The Creevys, perhaps. In which case, what they lacked in numbers, they'd make up for in viciousness. 

"I'll make sure to teach him the error of his ways," she said, savagely swiping at a piece of netting that was resisting her. 

"By the way," Astrid said casually, "I've got something for you." 

_Oh no_ , Christina had time to think. Here, she was a sitting duck for anything Astrid cared to drop on her. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the gas bomb that was coming... 

But what hit her was wet and sticky. She opened her eyes, to see that her hair and clothes were splattered with paint — paint that glowed faintly in the darkness. 

"There," Astrid said. "A handicap. Don't want to make this too easy for you, do we?" 

_So it **is** just her and me,_ Christina thought. _Good. She's bitten off more than she can chew, and I could use the challenge._ She slit the last piece of mesh and dropped to the floor, landing less gracefully than she'd have liked. As she recovered her balance, she shook herself to try and dislodge some of the paint, then ran for the stairwell at the back of the building. As usual, she'd come prepared; it was the work of a moment to clip her winch to a nearby railing and lower herself down the stairwell at the maximum speed compatible with safety. 

She didn't stop until she'd reached the bottom of the stairwell. Unhooking herself from the winch and leaving its rope hanging, she hurried into the darkness of the warehouse's cellar. There was a chute here which led to a delivery hatch; she risked a brief flash of her torch to find it. 

As she crawled up the chute, Astrid's hand caught at her boot. She must have given chase and slid down the rope, Christina supposed. Struggle though she might, the grip was unbreakable, and the boot was fastened too firmly; Christina was dragged back into the cellar. 

"Got you," Astrid's voice said. "Hand over the goods." 

Christina reached into her jacket and pulled out the egg — the real one, this time. With her other hand, she switched on her torch and tossed it to the floor, to give enough light that Astrid could see what she was doing. 

"I said this is fragile," she said, holding it up. "Let me go or I'll crush it." 

Astrid's grip didn't loosen. "Put it down on the floor." 

"I warned you." Christina began to tighten her grip on the egg. 

Astrid caught her by the wrist, and twisted, hard. The egg flew out of Christina's hand; Astrid let go of Christina and threw herself after it. Whether she caught it or not, Christina couldn't say; she was already half way up the chute, and climbing. 

"As I said when I beat you in the steeplechase," she called down, "'Remember this as the day you _nearly_ caught Christina de Souza'." 

"And as I said that day, you cheated," Astrid's voice came back. "Know what? This time, so did I." 

Christina didn't have time to consider that statement before reaching the trapdoor which led to the outside world. She pushed it open — and found herself looking up at bright lights, policemen, and a very unfriendly-looking dog. She slammed the trapdoor shut again and let herself slide down the chute, leaving a luminous trail of paint. 

"OK," she shouted. "You got me. Fair and square." She was back in the cellar, but her torch was gone, and so was Astrid. "Best fun I've had in weeks. We really should do this again some time." 

There was no answer. Overhead, she could hear the sounds of shouting, and heavy boots. They were answered by similar sounds from the chute. 

_She's **good**_ , Christina thought, hurrying up the stairs. _Then again, so am I._

⁂

"Here you are, Inspector." Astrid handed over the egg. "I believe our contract is concluded." 

Macmillan did not look particularly gratified at having to thank a private agent for succeeding where his men had failed. "Thank you, Miss Ferrier." 

"I hope you're gentle when you catch her," Astrid said, looking back at the building. The lower floors were already full of light and activity, with silhouettes of policemen visible passing across the windows. "I knew her at school." 

"Really." 

Astrid rubbed her leg, where Christina's initial kick had caught her. "Yes. And she was a pain in the neck then, too." 

"Well, she can't get away now. Not even if she had a helicopter on the roof." 

"Are you sure, Inspector? Because— look!" 

Astrid pointed up at the building. Climbing out of a window on the top floor was a lithe, luminous figure. 

"If she falls she'll break every bone in her body," the Inspector muttered. He raised his voice. "Hey! You! Don't do anything stupid!" 

"Bit late for that now," the figure called back. "And Astrid... if you ever want to work for me, I pay very well. See you all later." 

She reached further, seemed for a moment to lose her footing, and then was hanging from a wire attached to the side of the building. When she'd inspected the premises earlier, Astrid had thought it merely a telephone wire, but it was clearly something more. A zipline, doubtless installed by Lady Christina in case she needed a quick getaway. In seconds, the glowing figure had passed over their heads, dropped from the line onto the arm of a parked JCB, and disappeared from view. 

"She can't get away," Macmillan said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself. "We've got the area surrounded, and with that paint—" 

There was a distant splash. 

"I think she's just dealt with the paint," Astrid said. "Jumped in the river, by the sound of things. Rather her than me." 

"She'll drown!" 

"She got the gold in the divisional swimming championships. Should have been silver, but she bribed Octavia Jenkins to throw the race." Astrid held out her hand to the Inspector. "Nice working with her." 

"You what?" 

"Nice working with you." Astrid shook his hand, trying not to smile at the near-apoplectic expression on his face. "If you need me again, you know how to contact me."


End file.
